


Merry Crisis

by Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts



Series: YCTH!Verse [4]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: 1920s, 1930s, Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Author Is Sleep Deprived, Brotherly Bonding, Character Death, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Human, M/M, Mild Gore, Period Typical Attitudes, Podfic Welcome, Serial Killers, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Terminal Illnesses, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 19:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21773572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts/pseuds/Scorpius_Wears_Short_Skirts
Summary: Husk and Alastor reminisce on their lives before Hell with Angel since the girls have left for the Holidays.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Husk (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Character(s)
Series: YCTH!Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1569163
Comments: 65
Kudos: 881





	1. Mama Landry

**Author's Note:**

> I know everyone is expecting a chapter for the main fic but it's getting to the finale and it needs to be perfect. So in place of that I'll be putting up this threeshot focused on Al and Husk's history.

**Hell, December 23rd, Current Year**

Charlie and Vaggie had packed up and were leaving the hotel to spend the holiday with Charlie's family, leaving Alastor in charge. Niffty had also left, claiming that she had her own family in the Lower Rings to visit. Husk stayed, having no where really to go.

"Most of my family's in Heaven anyway." Husk said with a shrug when Charlie did a walkthrough to see if anyone, patient or worker, wanted time off as well. 

"I'm gonna stay here too." Angel decided. "Arackniss called a bit ago and said Dad's in a bad mood. Him and Molly might stop by here tomorrow though."

"That's fine! They're always welcome here, even not checking in." Charlie assured.

Alastor wished the girls happy travels and practically shoved them both out the door, much to Vaggie's annoyance. She didn't respond past a glare, not wanting to bring Charlie's cheerful mood down, and Alastor hardly noticed anyway. 

"Now then, Husker, let's break out the moonshine and we'll have a proper fais-do-do." Alastor cheered. 

"You can't say 'fais-do-do' in the stupid radio voice, Squeaker." Husk said with an amused snort. "Drop it, will you?"

"Wait you know?" Angel asked, having thought he was the only one in Hell to be aware of that particular trait of the Radio Demon.

"Oh yes!" Alastor admitted, dropping his filter as asked. "We knew each other 'fore droppin in."

"Yeah." Husk chuckled, pulling wax-sealed mason jars from a special lockbox he kept under the bar. "It was Christmas then too, right?"

"It was!" Alastor confirmed. "My mother practically adopted you. I didn't like it, but y' grew on me."

**Christmas Eve, Earth, 1916**

Alastor Landry had been fifteen when he met Jim Husker. They had been neighbors for a while before that, but never really spoke. Jim was nineteen at the time. Antionette, Alastor's mother had been watching from the window a while before Alastor finally asked her what she was frowning about. He hated when his mother frowned. She didn't look right to him when she didn't have a smile on her face.

"Dat white boy next door. Nobody done shown up yet an' he ain't left." She said. She took a few jars from under the kitchen counter, filled with blueberry jam she had made herself and put them in a basket and tied a ribbon to it. "G' over dere an' invite 'im over. I don't want nobody lonely on a holiday." 

"Mama…" Alastor groaned, not thrilled about the fact he would have to share her attention. 

"G' on! We got 'nough food to share."

Alastor put his winter boots on and his coat before taking the basket and trudging over. He still wasn't happy about the sudden new chore but he knew if he didn't do as asked his mother would have a switch to his backside in a heartbeat, no matter what day it was.

When Jim Husker opened the door to an unexpected knock, he squinted.

"Ain't you the kid who shot my cat?" Jim asked, annoyed.

"Accident." Alastor lied.

"No it wasn't."

"No it wasn't." Alastor agreed, then shoved the basket of jam into Jim's arms, who had to react quickly to avoid dropping it. "Mama wants you t' come over for Christmas but if y' wannu stay in y' house that's fine too!"

Jim only looked more dubious before shrugging. "You know what? I'll take her up on that."

"What, really? But I shot y' cat!" Alastor protested, his voice cracking embarrassingly as he still wasn't quite done with puberty.

"Yeah and I think annoying you for the day is a pretty fair payback. Besides it was an _accident_ , right Squeaker?" Jim glared, and reached back inside to put the basket down and put on his own coat and boots.

"Where y' at?" Antionette greeted when Jim stepped into her home, followed shortly by Alastor.

"Uh…" Jim said, confused. "Here?" He answered, pointing to the floor.

Alastor snorted. "She's askin' how y' are."

"Fine, ma'am." Jim answered, a bit awkwardly as he took his coat off.

"Ma'am." Antionette repeated with a chuckle. "Ain't often I hear that. G' on an' sit. Supper'll be ready fast fast. Alastor, come help me put de this pan up." 

"Jus' gon have me take it down 'gain. Quit puttin' it up there!" Alastor protested, but took the pan and put it up over the cabinet for his shorter mother as asked.

"I like havin' you help." Antionette said with a chuckle, turning her attention to Jim. "He's got so tall. Grown like a damn weed."

Antionette got her jam jars back weeks after, emptied and the contents replaced with moonshine. She sent them back with more jam and they went back and forth for a while. Jim's own mother had passed a few years prior and while nothing could replace her, it was nice to have a maternal figure back in his life. What was more, she seemed to have a sixth sense about whenever Jim was having a bad day and invited him over for dinner at least once a week.

Alastor was even starting to grow on Jim. The kid had mood swings and could be a bit creepy at times. He was a weird kid but Jim figured that it might be due to a lack of any sort of father figure. Jim felt like he and Alastor were more like brothers over time. He wondered if that was why he kept getting invited over. Whatever the reason was, he was grateful. 

**Earth, June 1920**

Over a few years he taught Alastor how to shoot a gun so he could take the younger boy hunting in the winters. For summers, they would take a pirogue out on the bayou to go fishing. 

"You got a girl yet?" Jim asked during one such fishing trip. "Haven't seen you chasing any skirts."

"I don't care to." Alastor said with a shrug, forcing himself to use a more 'standard' accent. "I gave it a try. Didn't go well. Not worth the effort."

Alastor decided at some point that he wanted to go into working Radio as a host. He'd been given a job cleaning instead, having been told that he didn't sound like someone that people would want to listen to. To combat this, he had taken to faking a proper accent whenever possible, much to the annoyance of his mother who preferred him to 'talk normal'.

"You're a weird kid." Jim said with a chuckle, not meaning anything bad by it. 

Alastor frowned and grew quiet, picking through the tackle box. Jim also frowned, getting the feeling that he had said the wrong thing. 

"Do you… like men?" Jim asked quietly, realizing that with how times were that it was dangerous to be open about that sort of thing. Alastor didn't answer, so Jim took it as a confirmation. "Hey it's okay. I won't say anything. Hell I like women as much as any man but there's been a time or two where a guy turned my head. It's not bad. People just don't understa-"

"I don't _look_ at anybody!" Alastor shouted, having grown increasingly uncomfortable the longer Jim tried to reassure him, dropping his false accent and falling back into his real one. "I know I'm s'posed to look at a lady and feel _somethin'_ an' Mama keeps askin' me when I'm gon' bring a girl home t'meet her an' get married and have babies but I don't _want_ to! I don't know why! Somethin' in my head's broke an' I don't know how to fix it."

"Shit, kid…" Jim said, unsure how he was supposed to take the information or console. He tried for a hug but was quickly pushed away roughly, which rocked the boat quite a bit. "You're not broken." Jim said, not sure else what he could say. "You're just… a late bloomer?" 

Alastor choked on a forced laugh and shook his head. "You know Marie?" He asked, his voice turning a bit high as he ran himself into hysterics. He didn't even wait for Jim to respond before he kept talking. "I took 'er dancin' bout a week back 'cuz she keeps pesterin' me so I thought I should try to be receptive an' maybe that'd fix it if I just try but she--" Alastor cut himself off, pulling at his hair. "I got sick on 'er. Ain't that awful?"

"Haven't seen Marie in days…" Jim mused aloud. "Must've left an impression. Hey at least she'll leave you be now, right?" Jim said lightly, trying his best to make his brother calm down.

"Yes…" Alastor agreed, pulling back into his false accent. "That she will…"


	2. Tribute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alastor and Husk pay their respects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on finale chapters of the main story cuz it needs to be perfect but this is done already so here you go!

**Hell, December 23rd, Current Year**

After a few jars of moonshine each, the boys had congregated on the roof of the hotel. Alastor had carried the rest of the jars up and Husk took one, not bothering to open it before reeling back and throwing it as hard as he could manage toward the glowing, haloed, moon-like entity in the sky that was Heaven. The jar didn't make it, the journey too far, but it sailed far enough for the throw to be considered impressive. The jar fell out of sight but they could hear it shatter somewhere below.

"YEOUCH! What the FUCK?!" Sounded the voice of some unfortunate demon below, which the jar had landed on.

"Good throw my friend, but not the right target." Alastor laughed.

"Don't fuckin' patronize me kid." Husk gruffed, but he had a rare smile on his face.

Angel laughed too and watched as Alastor took a jar, cutting into his own hand with the claw of his thumb and drawing blood to bring a congregation of particularly strong tendrils forth. He tossed the jar into them and they flung it much farther than Husk had managed and the jar flew cleanly out of sight. It probably also hadn't managed to make it to Heaven, but they didn't hear it land.

"Show off." Husk rolled his eyes.

Angel sort of wanted to throw a jar too, but he didn't ask. He knew it wasn't his place to intrude and it was a privilege just to be allowed to witness this odd tradition. He thought of his own mother and wondered why he had never thought to do something like this for her. Sure there was no real way to contact those in Heaven without an angel's help, and angels usually killed demons on sight whenever they came to Hell, but it still struck him as something that felt meaningful regardless of how trivial it actually was. 

"Why don't you guys do this tomorrow or Christmas Day?" Angel asked, finding the timing just a bit odd.

Alastor's grin fell slightly until it was just a small smile and Husk let out a sigh. 

"It's Mama Ann's deathday." Husk said softly, picking up another jar and passing it back and forth between his hands before chucking it skyward.

"Yes. She didn't quite make it to that last Christmas with us." Alastor confirmed, pulling his smile wider as he reached over to Husk and swatted his wing. "You didn't even tell me."

"She made me promise not to, jackass." Husk defended, making a move to hit Alastor back but missing as the stronger demon effortlessly removed himself from arm's reach.

**Earth, November 1923**

Antionette had developed a cough for the better part of a year. She hid it for the most part or played it off as something minor when she had to. It had been pure chance that Jim had seen her disposing of bloodied tissue when she thought no one had seen.

"You should see a doctor about that." He suggested.

"Already did so." Antionette said, clearing her throat. "Ain't nothin' for it." She sighed, turning to face Jim. "Best not tell Alastor, a'right?"

"Don't you think he should know?" Jim asked, knowing that whatever the illness was that the unwillingness to share meant it was something serious.

"He been workin' too hard. You know he gets in his feelin's too deep and I ain't 'bout to bring him down while he almost made it." Antionette explained.

**Earth, December 1923**

Alastor burst through the door of his mother's house, where Antionette and Jim were busy separating snap peas into a pot.

"I got a talkin' part in a show!" Alastor shouted in triumph, holding up a piece of paper above his head, his sheer volume causing Jim to startle and nearly drop the pot.

"Goddamn it, Squeaker!" Jim said, holding a hand to his chest.

"Our ears ain't broke." Antionette scolded, but her eyes were warm. "Lemme see that paper, sha. I wannu see."

Alastor obediently gave her the paper and kissed her cheek before pointing out a schedule where one of his coworkers names had been scribbled out and replaced with a sloppily penned _A. Landry._

"See, Mistah Edwards went an' done lost 'is voice." Alastor explained, switching accents mid-explanation. "But since I can sound just like any other proper host they are letting me take on his duty for a time!"

"Do y' gotta talk funny?" Anionette asked.

Alastor nodded. "They don't want to hear people like us…" He sighed, knowing it wasn't fair. 

Alastor was a mix of black, white, and native american. Sure he wasn't as dark as his mother was since whoever his father was had been white. But radio wasn't a visual affair so it didn't have to matter as long as he sounded a certain way. No one would think to question a radio host that sounded just like any other and that was his in to try to make things a little more fair for people like his mother and himself. He would do his part to _make_ things fair.

"You talk a certain way and people assume things." Jim sympathised, though for vastly different reasons. His own voice had always had a gravel to it, making his tone seem angry even when he wasn't. 

Antionette was hit then with a particularly strong cough, getting a worried look from both younger men. She said it was just a tickle in her throat, but Jim knew better. As asked, he didn't say anything. 

"Oh you two…" Antionette pulled both of her boys into a strong hug. 

Alastor, of course could only handle being held onto for so long before his restless energy demanded he move.

"Jim! I just remembered we're late!" Alastor said, taking the pot of snaps and putting it on the table and tugging his brother out of the door.

"For _what?!_ " Jim demanded, but let himself be dragged out of the bayou and into the shopping district of the city. 

Between the two of them, Alastor and Jim only just managed to pull together to afford a simple but still pretty yellow sundress. It had loose sleeves and a ruffled skirt, with lace flowers around the neck of it. Alastor had seen it weeks ago in a window on his way to work and had shown it to Jim shortly after. They had both agreed it would make a wonderful christmas gift for Antionette. 

They brought it home, Alastor making a show out of being sneaky about something completely different while Jim found a place to wrap it and hide it. It had taken everything they had in their pockets and quite a bit of haggling, but Mama Landry deserved the best from her sons, didn't she?

She never got to see it, having passed in her sleep the night before Christmas Eve.

**Hell, December 23rd, Current Year**

"We buried her in that damn dress." Husk said, staring up at Heaven before turning to Alastor and adding in an irritated huff. "Not that you were there."

"She wasn't at the fun'ral. Her corpse ain't _her._ " Alastor shot back, gesturing toward Heaven. "She's up there prob'ly talkin' God's ear off 'bout why there ain't any fuckin' visits allowed."

"You don't go to a funeral for who died. You go for who's left." Husk grumbled. "Still ain't convinced that that's not why you cracked."

"I hated everybody but you at the time." Alastor said to Husk dryly. "And I'd already seen you that mornin'."

"I didn't go to my Ma's funeral either." Angel admitted. "I was still a kid, though. I didn't get the choice."

Alastor picked up another jar, staring down at it fondly before tossing it gently over to Angel who only just managed to catch it. "Go 'head and throw one. She'd've liked you."

Angel grinned, weighing the jar in his hands and said his own little blasphemous prayer that if any of the jars actually made it to Heaven that Al and Husk's mama would share with his ma too. He kissed the lid and flung it. 

They all laughed when they heard it shatter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alt. Title: The boys throw shit at the moon.


	3. Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've had some rough times, but time heals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some gore and obvious character death(which doesnt really count how it usually would cuz hell)

**Hell, December 24rd, Current Year**

Even with the late night, Alastor was up early before the others. He was in the kitchen, having already started a deep pot boiling loudly. Angel was awake as well, having followed him downstairs when he woke up to find his favorite sharp and bony pillow gone. The kitchen was steaming up terribly and the smell was strong, which was what finally got Husk out of bed around noon.

"I can smell this shit through the vents! You're supposed to do that outside." Husk snarled, wobbling on the spot as the smell was making his hangover worse. 

"Don't be silly, Husker. It's cold outside." Alastor said, having no remorse.

"That's why we do boils in the fucking summer." Husk grunted, but sat down on a stool at the counter where Angel stood to cut up potatoes. "How much fucking lemon did you throw in there?"

"A lot." Angel answered with a snicker.

"It'll even out." Alastor assured, turning to whack the spider across the rear with a wooden spoon. " _Someone_ got carried away. But it can be fixed!"

"Hit me harder." Angel muttered.

"Stop." Husk said quickly, covering his face with a paw. "I don't want to witness whatever weird shit you two do."

"Aw, he's bashful." Angel teased, turned to give the cut potatoes to Alastor who dumped them into the pot. "Honestly we mostly just snuggle. Sometimes though, if he's had more than two drinks I can get him to--"

"Shut up!" Husk hissed.

"Angel, no." Alastor groaned, his ears falling back.

"--talk dirty to me through the door." Angel continued, unphased by the others' protests. 

Alastor hid his face, having to take a moment to compose himself before resuming his work. He was used to Angel's mouth running away from him by now but he was still always surprised when it happened. 

"...It's nice to see you happy, Squeaker." Husk said a little later when Angel had left the kitchen to set the table. 

**Earth, 1929**

The stock market crashed. It hit some families harder than others. Alastor, surprisingly, was well off. He had a solid, steady job reporting news as well as hosting a simple talk show. He was busy constantly, but he was thriving. 

Jim was struggling. He'd gotten married and started a family recently, only to have the home he had worked so hard for dragged right back out of his grasp. He needed help and though his pride had stopped him from seeking it for months, he finally caved and went to his brother. His wife, Daisy had expressed concern, but Jim knew it was his only option and assured her that the Radio Host was eccentric, sure, but harmless.

"Daisy! A pleasure to see you as always." Alastor greeted cheerfully as he answered his door. "And little Marguerite. You've gotten so big since I last saw you."

The toddler on Daisy's hip giggled, wriggling a bit as she was addressed. She reached for Alastor, but he was already turning away to let the ladies inside. "Do pardon the mess. I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"Uncle Al!" Marguerite called after him, earning a chuckle from Jim and a sigh from Daisy. 

Alastor ignored the child for now, picking up newspapers and handwritten scripts to stack them neatly on the coffee table. Daisy put Marguerite down and the child followed Alastor to his chair where he sat down and allowed her to climb up into his lap. Daisy didn't say anything but the look on her face wasn't a very happy one. She left the room in search of the guest room, claiming a need to rest.

"You've been doing well for yourself." Jim mused, looking around the living room. It was modest and lived in, but still obviously a place that cost more than average. He sat down on the couch near the chair.

"Yes, well. I don't have a wife to feed or a child to rear." Alastor said cheerfully, but Jim could hear the undertone of something like sadness in it.

"You lonely?" Jim asked quietly.

"Of course not!" Alastor waved him off. "I don't get lonely."

Jim sighed, not believing that for a moment. Sure, Alastor was bold and loud and had more bravado than blood, but he was still human. Even if he didn't have all of the needs that the average man did, Jim knew there must still be a shred of Alastor that needed other people. He wouldn't have agreed to house Jim and his family if he hadn't wanted the company. He didn't challenge the statement, though, knowing that Alastor could talk circles around anyone.

"He's always staring at me." Daisy complained some time in the night.

She and Jim were both in the guest room, their daughter curled up asleep between them.

"He stares at everyone. He doesn't mean anything by it." Jim said, rubbing her arm. "I've known him a long time. He's my brother. I trust him."

"I don't." Daisy said sternly. "I have a bad feeling about him. Something's wrong with him. There was blood in the sink, didn't you see?"

"He hunts. He goes and kills his own food. Probably how he's kept up with money this whole time." Jim rationalized. 

"The _bathroom_ sink, Jim." Daisy clarified.

"Deer are big. He probably skinned it in the tub." Jim sighed. "Please, can we just sleep? I have work to do tomorrow."

"Okay…" Daisy relented, not sounding okay at all.

"Thank you." Jim said, relieved the matter was dropped. "I love you."

Daisy returned the statement, but she left him a week later.

**Earth, 1932**

Alastor had to watch Marguerite during the day while Jim was out doing odd jobs, since Daisy was no longer around to care for her. Alastor didn't mind for the most part, making recordings in advance while the child took naps to take full advantage of the quiet. While she was awake he made sure to keep her busy with various activities; Drawing, simple chores, and at one point, much to her father's annoyance, the correct way to skin a rabbit with the use of a stuffed animal.

"You'll ruin her brain like that!" Jim protested, snatching the mangled plush toy away.

"Nonsense, she's six. Mama showed me with a real rabbit when I was four!" Alastor dismissed.

"That explains a lot." Jim grumbled, picking Marguerite up. "I think…" Jim trailed off, sighing. "I think we should go." 

Alastor grew quiet, his showman's grin dropping. 

"I don't want you around my kid anymore. You're too much." Jim continued. "Daisy was right. There's something wrong with you. I should've seen it ages ago. When Marie went missing, then Mr Edwards."

"Go on then." Alastor said coldly. "Get de hell outta my house. Enjoy strugglin'."

"Fine." Jim agreed, and he should have known that wouldn't be the end of it. 

**Earth, 1933**

Jim knew that Alastor was killing people by now, but chose to look the other way. Their falling out was troubling but he wouldn't ignore the fact that they were brothers. Blood or not, you don't rat out your family. Alastor seemed to have counted on that fact. Eventually they even got over the argument, though Jim still kept Marguerite well away from Alastor.

Jim had managed to scrape up enough to afford a small house on the edge of the woods. It was barely more than a shack but it was home for him and his daughter. It also allowed him to hunt the deer in the woods whenever possible. Marguerite kept insisting on helping, but Jim always told her not until she was older.

It was the braying of dogs and shouting in the middle of the night that had Jim reaching for his hunting rifle. It wasn't the first time he had heard it. There was always some convict or another dragging their shackles through the woods after a jailbreak, bloodhounds hot on their trail. This _was_ however the first time that someone came knocking frantically on the door.

Jim grumbled under his breath, gun trained on the door. He hoped that if he stayed quiet that the intruder would give up and leave. No such luck, it seemed. The door broke open and a figure staggered jn, reeking of fresh blood. Jim fired before he could register just who he was shooting. There was a wet yelp, a voice Jim knew, and then a heavy thud as the intruder slumped to the floor. Jim stood up, coming closer to kick the body and roll it over.

"Picked the wrong damn hou--Oh… Oh goddamn it no…" Jim said, annoyance shifting to shock as he realized it was Alastor's corpse on the floor. "Fuck, I didn't mean--" Jim knelt down, trying to push Alastor to get up but it wasn't working. Of course it wasn't; Jim had shot him dead center between the eyes. "You fucking stupid son of a bitch, why didn't you say something?"

The dogs were getting closer and Marguerite was crying in the other room, but Jim could barely hear either as he called out for help in vain, knowing rationally that it was too late.

**Hell, December 24rd, Current Year**

Alastor brought the pot out to the table, dumping it over the table, which Angel had covered in newspapers as he'd been told. Scalding water flowed off onto the floor, leaving a mess of crawfish, potatoes, lemon, corn, and a variety of other odds and ends. 

"This is why we're supposed to do boils outside." Husk reiterated. "This is gonna ruin the table and floor." 

"I can fix it later." Alastor dismissed with a wave.

Angel picked up a crawfish, curiously trying to get under the shell of it with his claws. "How do you open these ugly fuckers?" He asked, giving up and tossing it away to put a piece of potato in his mouth instead.

"Suck de head and twist de tail, sha." Alastor said.

Angel choked momentarily. _"What?!"_

"Not an innuendo, that's literally how you eat them." Husk rolled his eyes.

Alastor picked up the discarded crawfish, demonstrating in amusement as he watched Angel's awestruck reaction. 

"You should do that to me." Angel suggested, not even trying to hide the way his fur bristled.

"No." Alastor quickly declined.

"Five minutes!" Husk groaned. "Can I have five fucking minutes where you two act like normal people?!"


	4. Death and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel made sweaters! And the other two remember their deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter: character death (again doesnt matter much cuz Hell)

**Hell, December 24rd, Current Year**

Hell had levels. Some called them circles, other called them rings. Whatever they were, how you acted in life dictated which one you landed in. Angel had landed in the least severe, one reserved for Lust. Lust wasn't purely sexual, of course, just very strong desire. One could argue that addiction was a form of lust, if that person hadn't had experience with addiction before. All in all, it wasn't nearly the worst thing one could be sent to hell for and if not for also being a murder, even just on orders, Angel may have made it to purgatory. But he hadn't, so he was instead in Hell singing his own twisted parodies of christmas carols while he tried to get his pet pig to sit still and tolerate being knitted around.

"You could make the sweater and _then_ put it on the pig." Husk suggested, watching it happen from over his fifth beer of the afternoon.

"No, this is more entertaining." Alastor protested. "Let him do it the difficult way."

Nuggets, the poor pig, was letting out annoyed snorts but had accepted the fact that they were going to be encased in yarn regardless of how much they squirmed. Angel had four arms to keep them steady so it wasn't as if they could escape and they liked attention even if it came for the price of wearing silly things.

"I made sweaters for you guys too. And the girls, but they ain't here so fuck 'em." Angel stated cheerfully.

"Fuck me." Husk grunted, putting his face in his free paw.

"Weird as it is, I'm gonna have to decline. I'm dating your brother, I feel like there's a line there." Angel deadpanned, but the glint in his eye made it clear it was one of his jokes. 

The bad thing was that Alastor caught it and just had to play along. "Oh, yes! Definitely a line not to be crossed, Husk. I'm surprised at you. Shame on you for even the thought."

"I didn't mean it like that and you know it." Husk protested.

"Shaaaaame." Angel giggled.

Nuggets squalled, wanting to be included.

"I hate you both so much." Husk sighed, flopping sideways and accidentally spilling his drink in the process. "Oh goddammit."

Alastor cackled.

**Hell, 1933**

It was a strange feeling, dying. Ones whole body went numb for so long that time stopped meaning anything. And then the numbness twitched and twisted and morphed.

When Alastor woke up dead he wasn't human. He wasn't even close. He had four legs and fur. Some of his bones; skull, spine, and a few ribs, were on the outside of his skin. He couldn't feel anything at first. Then he felt hungry. Then the fear set in. When he was calm enough to move and try to make sense of his surroundings he could guess where he was.

It was a dark marsh. The water was shallow and red and smelled of copper; blood. He couldn't tell if the trees were made of wood or leather, but the bones sticking out of writhing bodies were clear enough, each of them just as monstrous as himself. Purely on instinct, he ran, not even knowing if he was running toward safety or just more danger.

It didn't take long for Alastor to notice that there was a set of thundering footsteps that didn't belong to himself. He didn't know if they were real or paranoid hallucinations, but they spurred him to keep running. And then he was caught, torn open, and eaten alive. 

The other beast left him alone when he stopped twitching, and eventually he healed. He got up, confused, and looked around him.

There was a man nearby leaning against a tree and grinning. An almost ordinary man. He looked human, but he smelled like rum and gunpowder and blood.

"Y' can't talk yet." The man said, not a question. "Didn' spect ye down 'ere so soon."

Alastor ignored the urge to run again, too tired, and cocked his head curiously. The man spoke just like how his mother did and he himself used to and that was worth attention.

"I know you. Knew y' mama. Y' daddy was one o' my horses." The man continued. "Got t' know you bit later on. My boy made a good an' fair bokor. Too damn fair, but still dealin' wi'cha left hand. Say dat deserves some'n back." The man rambled, taking slow steps until he was within arm's reach of Alastor.

Alastor was twice as tall as the man just at the shoulder, but with shadows forming around him to help him up he put his left hand against Alastor's forehead against the glowing red X between his eyes. Alastor flinched, but the hand stayed firm and Alastor felt a pulse run through his body. He almost thought he was dying a second time for a moment until the hand slipped away.

"Kalfu?" Alastor guessed, surprising himself that he could speak once more.

The man had vanished though, leaving Alastor with more questions than he had before. He was stronger after that encounter, and eventually learned to shape himself into something resembling human. He couldn't get rid of the ears or antlers and it seemed to just depend on luck if he could get the tail to go away. He also could control shadows after some practice, then travel through them. It came at a cost. The stronger he became, the worse the starvation felt.

He could also sense and tune into any radio waves he wished. It was through the radio waves that he realized Hell was a lot bigger than he had first thought. There were rings to it, and he was on one of the lowest ones, reserved for the more monstrous of sinners. Murderers, torturers, and cannibals. Fitting, considering the form he had started in. Well, he'd just have to fight his way up if he wanted to be anywhere fun.

**Earth, 1965-1972**

Jim Husker was getting too old for this shit. He'd been drafted to serve in Vietnam and hated every second. Jis daughter had just had a kid of her own and he had wanted to be there for her and the baby to help; To do just one thing right in his life. It was out of his hands now. Instead of caring for what family he had left he had a gun thrust back into his hands and been told to go kill kids he didn't know.

"Ay, Husker! You took out that New Orleans Slasher yeah?" One of the younger soldiers would always seem to ask when they saw him in the mess tent during rests.

"Leave me the fuck alone, kid." Jim would grunt back, using any time he was allowed to drown the memory in whatever cheap booze was available and allowing himself to become a husk of who he once was.

Years rolled by or nothing but drink, walk, shoot, drink, sleep, and drink some more. If not for strict military schedules he would have forgotten to eat. He was getting sick of it all. The only thing that kept him going was the letters and pictures Marguerite would send him, letting him watch his grandaughter grow from a distance. After a while, though, it stopped feeling real to Husk. 

Gunshots, shouting, everyone panicking around him but Husk stayed steady on his trigger, gunning down several soldiers despite the american troops being outnumbered until it was just him and one other man among a pile of bodies. Husk looked at the other, both of them having a silent stand off. Husk was so tired, so old, and the other guy was just a kid. 

"No more." Husk lowered his gun slowly and dropped it.

The kid shouted something, looking around frantically as if expecting a trap. There was nothing. Just him, and Husk, and too much death around them. Husk sighed, pulling a flask from his jacket, the movement finally spurring the kid to shoot him square in the chest before running away.

Husk cried out and slumped over, but he wasn't surprised. He'd expected it. He allowed it. Shock took hold of him as he bled out on the ground. He raised the flask to his mouth, disappointed to find it empty.

"Thats… fair." He wheezed, coughing and spitting up blood. "See you... in Hell, Squeaker."

**Hell, December 24rd, Current Year**

Angel dissappeared upstairs for a moment after he finishe with Nuggets, coming back quickly wearing his own pink and mint green sweater. He tossed a red and white sweater to Alastor, who didn't hesitate to put it on. Angel then tossed a green and gold one to Husk, who held it up to get a better look at it.

"Full of Christmas Spirits?" Husk read aloud, then took a more careful look at the others's sweaters.

'Happy Holid-ACE' was stitched into Alastor's, while Angel's read 'Santa's Favorite Ho'. Husk rolled his eyes and grudgingly put the sweater on, deciding things could be worse. At least he could tell it was made of yarn and not spidersilk.


	5. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings this chapter: Alastor-typical violence

**Hell, December 24rd, Current Year**

There was very little true vegetation in Hell that wasn't cultivated by agriculture, so a Christmas Tree had to be improvised. Angel wasn't going to do without, so with a ridiculous amount of coat hangers, some string, and a lot of garland he managed to craft something strongly resembling a pine. He hung it up from the ceiling in a corner of the lobby that night, putting a circular blanket under it. 

"Is that really necessary?" Husk asked, having watched Angel work on the construction for a solid few hours.

"I think it's swell!" Alastor praised, wrapping his arms around Angel who giggled in appreciation.

**Hell, 1976**

Husk had fallen into the ring of Hell reserved for Sloth but managed to work his way up by taking gambles with demons that could get him moved upwards. Cheating cards was risky in Hell, but everyone else was doing it. Husk was just better at it. He had spent his first year looking for his brother, but Hell was big. Worse, it was overcrowded. Finding someone specific took luck, and Husk didn't have much of that, hence why he cheated cards.

He may have given up altogether if the bar he was hustling cards at didn't have the radio playing as loud as it was. That stupid voice… 

_"...And that, dear listeners, is the sound of a jaw being dislocated in a creature that cannot usually unhinge their jaw. Let's hear a round of applause for our guest for being such a good sport!" And the thunder of applause did sound, grainy and clearly pre-recorded against very real crying and howling in pain. "Quite the pleasure to work with I must say. Now, if we shift our attention to the shoulder…" A sickening crack, followed by a gurgling scream._

Husk dropped his drink, the glass shattering and spreading dark whiskey over his paws and the floor. He dropped his cards, abandoning his chips to grab the bartender.

"Where's the station you're playing this broadcast from?" Husk demanded.

"Uh, the Radio Tower. Duh." The bartender, some sort of lizard man answered. "Oh wait. You're new, huh? Edge of the Pentagram District. I wouldn't go there if I were you though. The Radio Demon's not just some actor. He actually tears up demons."

"Yeah, well he can try it." Husk let go, storming out of the bar and hailing a cab. 

The ride was silent, the driver thankfully seeming to catch on to Husk's semi-permanent bad mood. A small blessing for a long ride that cost way more than he expected it to. He got out at the Radio Tower and the cab sped away in a rush to be anywhere else away from the cursed place. Husk didn't hesitate, stomping toward the small house under it and banging loudly on the door. He got no answer, but that was fine by him. He knew enough about radio from Alastor rambling about it before to know that he was probably still broadcasting from a soundproof room.

Husk did _not_ expect the shadows around him, so mundane he hadn't looked twice at them, start to morph into shapes of sackdolls and small animals that surrounded him. Black tendrils snaked up his legs, locking him in place as he started to struggle.

"What the fuck?" Husk asked no one in particular, slashing his claws at his small attackers who just fizzled into dark fog to reform moments later. "Squeaker, it's me!"

"Oh, I'm afraid I don't know any 'Me's." Said Alastor as he opened the door in front of Husk, grey and red where he had once been brown and black. "I must say it's very rude to interrupt someone while they're working, But! I suppose this could be an amusing turn of events!" Alastor brought the sound of cheering up around him as he manifested his microphone and dispelled the shadows. "I'm going to give you a head start of thirty seconds to run and hide. Only fair, since _you shot me._ "

"I didn't mean to!" Husk defended, but Alastor wasn't listening. 

"Tick tock, old friend!" Alastor prompted, the sound of a clock ticking growing louder in the air.

Husk watched in horror as Alastor grew, morphing into some nightmarish bastardization of a deer. Given no other choice, he did turn tail and run. He was sure it hadn't actually been thirty seconds when he heard movement behind him. The sound of following hoofsteps spiked his adrenaline. Alastor was big but Husk had feline speed on his side. He ran into the city, hoping closely set buildings and narrow alleys would slow the other down.

It didn't. What did slow Alastor down was several random demons, sinners and imps alike, all winding up in Alastors large and bloodstained jaws. Crushed and shredded before being swallowed. The sight was such a shock that Husk nearly forgot he was supposed to be running. But running was what Alastor wanted, so Husk turned and stood his ground.

"You want to take a bite out of me too?!" He yowled angrily. "I deserve it! I didn't listen to Daisy when she _knew_! She knew you were this!" Husk waved his hands toward Alastor's monstrous form, which had slowed and stopped in front of him. "She was right to run. And then I ran away too. Couldn't stick by anything, could I? Well I ain't running now."

Alastor let out an eerie sound, his static wavering into a low whistle. He didn't approach so taking a gamble, Husk took a step toward him with his arms outstretched.

"I didn't know it was you." Husk said now that he knew Alastor was the one listening for a change. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Alastor let out a shuddering sort of wheeze before he shrank again, pulling into his nearly human form. He still grinned, though his eyes looked stern. He only looked at Husk for a moment before sighing and turning his eyes on the ground, speaking quietly even though any potential eavesdroppers had run in fear of him.

"Put y' arms down, couillon. Y' know I hate huggin'." 

**Hell, December 25th, Current Year**

_"Husk~"_ Angel's voice sounded from the hotel's intercom, waking Husk way too early.

"Who the fuck gave him the intercom code?" Husk wondered aloud, rolling over and covering his head with a wing.

 _"Come on downstairs, pretty kitty. Santa came all over the place."_ Angel continued, and Husk could just barely hear Alastor's static rise in disgust in the background noise.

"Ugh…" Hush groaned, scrubbing his paws over his face. 

Knowing Angel would just get worse the more he had to wait, the cat stretched out. Several of his joints popped and he couldn't decide if it hurt or felt great. He made his way downstairs his fur a mess and his wings unpreened as it was far too early to give a shit.

Angel, predictably, was dressed in a Santa styled minidress. Alastor, less predictably, was wearing the hat to go with it. "Merry Christmas!" They cheered in unison, and Husk noticed, a bit delayed that Alastor was projecting 'Jingle Bell Rock' in his usual ambience.

"Merry Kiss-My-Ass." Husk gruffed back, going to the bar to rummage through his stock. "It's too early."

"It's ten." Alastor countered.

Under the makeshift tree were a few boxes of all sizes. Some were wrapped in newspaper and others were wrapped in shiny red foil. Husk noticed, and oddly felt like more of a shitty person than he usually did. He hadn't gotten them anything.

"Ooh! This one first!" Angel said, noticeably jittery as he picked up one of the newspaper dressed ones and practically knocked Husk over with how forcefully he shoved it at him. 

Husk rolled his eyes and ripped it open easily with his claws. Inside the box was several dimebags full of catnip, which he threw back at Angel. Under those, however, he noticed a boxed poker set complete with chips and four full decks. Alastor's gift to him was similarly thoughtful after he looked under the oversized jingling toy mouse. It was a book of stage magic over the ages.

As it turned out most of the boxes under the tree were actually for Nuggets, who was more than happy to rip up paper and cardboard just to find new things to chew or nudge things around with their snout, but Alastor did give Angel a new pair of boots.

"Since y' old ones been lookin' bit scuffed." Alastor shrugged, not letting on that he'd had them custom made.

"Thanks babe. I got somethin' for you too but uh, I'll give it to you later tonight." Angel said, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Gross." Husk said dryly.

"Not somethin' sexy." Angel clarified, since Husk's comment made him realize how it had sounded. 

"Well now I'll just be curious all day." Alastor admitted.


	6. New Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Day is stressful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No flashback in this one and not as much focused on Alastor's and Husk's bond but this chapter wasn't even going to exist until my brain ran away with me again. I'm sure I made up for it though.

**Hell, December 25th, Current Year**

Alastor was outwardly calm and cheerful, but internally he was screeching. He couldn't figure out what Angel could have gotten for him that wasn't at all sexual, but still private. And to make things worse, he had to wait for the day to end. 

"What do you think he did?" Alastor felt the need to ask Husk when Angel's siblings showed up, the perfect distraction.

"How am I supposed to know?" Husk countered, nose stuck behind his new book.

Alastor looked up at the sound of laughter, watching fondly for a moment as Angel handed out mugs of hot cocoa garnished with whipped cream and a single candy cane to each of his siblings before sitting between them on the couch. He had gifts for them squirreled away too apparently; A butterfly knife for Molly and a box set of classic horror movies for Arackniss who almost cracked a smile about it. Nuggets was in Molly's lap, trying very hard to stick their nose into her hot chocolate. 

"Your dress is so cute! Can I borrow it for next year?" Molly asked.

"Not a chance!" Angel snickered. "Between the two of us you got all the ass. You'd rip it." 

"Aww…" Molly whined, though it was much more performative than actually upset.

"You don't know where it's been." Arackniss pointed out dryly.

"It's clean!" Angel protested. "I'll get one made for you, Molly. I know a guy." He then twisted to look at the bar. "Hey, Al. I know you ain't into sweet shit so there's coffee in the kitchen if you want it." Angel called to Alastor. 

"Well I never turn down coffee." Alastor nodded, suspecting it was bait to get him out of the room. 

Alastor didn't give away his suspicion and went to the kitchen, finding a full pot made. He really, _really_ wanted to eavesdrop but he knew Angel didn't like that sort of thing. Instead he wracked his brain to figure out what in Hell the surprise was. He also wracked his head against the refrigerator, his antlers visibly scratching the steel finish. He loathed surprises.

Molly's delighted squeal from the other room, followed by a hissed _"Shut up, he'll hear you."_ from Husk definitely got his attention. Nope, not listening in. He was going to drink his coffee and give them time to talk behind his back like a proper gentleman that didn't spy on his boyfriend without permission. Even though everyone else seemed like they were allowed to know.

Alastor made a spectacle of leaving the kitchen, showing off how much he hadn't been listening. Then he got a glare from Husk and turned it down a notch. 

"Well we won't be in your way." Arackniss said, finishing his hot cocoa and looking just a little shell-shocked. "Come on Molly."

"Oh. Yeah." Molly agreed, standing and putting her cup down to follow. "We just came over to check on you anyway. Good luck!" 

It was much later in the day when Charlie and Vaggie returned, both looking very much exhausted. Family time could be that way, Angel knew. He couldn't stand his own father and had caught on by paying attention that Charlie's relationship with her own father seemed a bit strained. Which is why he brought hot cocoa and their sweaters to their shared room himself. 

Charlie brightened considerably when presented with her sweater, which read 'Top of the Nice List'. She thanked him and hugged him, while Vaggie was a bit less enthused. 'Feisty the Snowgirl' was on the moth's and while it wasn't something she would wear by choice, she did appreciate the effort that went into it.

"Well I'll let you two destress, undress, and make a mess." Angel teased. "Goodnight, girls!"

"Get out!" Vaggie huffed, throwing her sweater at the closing door.

Angel laughed all the way back down to the lobby. He'd had a pretty good few days. Christmas had gone well, all things considered. There had been good food. He'd gotten to see the part of his family that actually liked him, aside from his mother of course but there was no way past that. He'd learned quite a bit about his boyfriend and gotten plenty of real smiles out of him. He even caught Husk fiddling with his new poker set, mixing the decks randomly to prevent card counting later. And perhaps the best of all, Alastor was _squirming_. 

Good, Angel thought, holding his hand to his chest to check that the little paper package was still there. It was. His fluff made for a very good pocket. He sighed, shaking his hands to get his nerves out. It would be fine. Everything was going to be fine. Angel set up a couple plates of assorted leftovers, heating them up and taking them both up to his room on two trays.

Alastor was already up there waiting for him, having walked Nuggets while Angel pestered the ladies and handled food. He was antsy; They both were, albeit for different reasons. Alastor looked up expectantly, dying to know just what had Angel of all people visibly nervous.

"Dinner first." Angel decided, obviously stalling.

"A'right." Alastor agreed, and they ate.

"Y'know…" Angel began over a forkful of rice. "I ain't the sharpest pin in the cushion. I'm crude and annoyin'. I'm still fuckin' around for money when I get days out of the hotel…"

"Y' smarter den y' think and y' know I don't mind dat, sha. It's work and an outlet I can't give. So long as y' always come back to me." Alastor said, growing a bit worried. "Wha's dis about?"

"You've been real good to me, Al." Angel continued. "Real good. Never thought anybody would treat me like a real person for the longest time. First I was just my dad's mistake. Then I was just Val's toy. Then everybody's toy. Then Charlie's project." Angel listed them on his fingers and sighed, shaking his head and smiling softly down at his food because he couldn't bring himself to look up at the concerned confusion on his boyfriend's face. "Always followin' behind somebody just wishin' I might finally get some approval. Maybe somebody'll be proud of me for once if I just look pretty and do what they tell me. But I don't feel like I'm behind you. I'm _beside_ you."

"Of course y' are." Alastor agreed. " Y' shakin' again. Do y' need--"

"No. It ain't that." Angel dismissed, putting most of his hands in his lap to hide the tremors. 

He hadn't had withdrawal symptoms since he and Alastor recovered from the incident with Vox. With his remaining hand he pulled the package from his fluff. It was like a handmade envelope, but small and wrapped in too much tape. He set it down between them.

"It ain't much. You don't even have to take it if it ain't a step you wanna take but… I love you, Al." Angel said, digging his claws into his thigh to try staying calm. 

Alastor's brow furrowed as he picked up the tiny package. It couldn't be what it seemed, he thought, ripping the tape with his claws. But it was, he saw as he opened up the paper. It was a ring, a black band of onyx with small red jewels imbedded into it.

"Angel, I…" Alastor began, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

"Christmas is supposed to be about family so I thought it was the right time to do this…" Angel said softly. "I thought, if you want me that way, we could be--mmph!" 

Angel nearly squeaked when Alastor leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth. It was the first time he had ever done so, much more averse to saliva than he was to blood, so it was clumsy and awkward. Angel thought it perfect. 

"Is that a yes?" Angel asked excitedly, though he'd already gotten a pretty clear answer.

Alastor laughed and nodded, putting the ring on gleefully.

"You ever gonna kiss me like that again?" Angel pushed.

"Maybe." Alastor allowed. "If it's a special occasion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A family can be two demons and a pig right?


End file.
